Colors Of My Life
by NothingMoreNothingLess
Summary: On hiatus. “I’m doing the same thing I always do when things start getting hard… I run. I run fast, hard, and far away from the problem at hand. The farther I get from the source of that problem, the easier it is to pretend it doesn’t exist all together.”
1. Black Of Night

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. If I did do you really think I'd be writing this? **

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Unknown Ally In Manhatten, NY  
January 12, 2006  
1:56 am_

The sound of footsteps running out of the ally brings me back, and brings the pain back too. I slam my eyes closed again as the usually soft glow of the streetlights blind me.

I bring my hand up to rub my eyes, trying to remember what happened. The sticky blood on my face shocks me for a moment, before everything comes rushing back.

I try to sit up but the pain in my left side steals my breathe, forcing me back down. I feel the tears start running down my face, and am completely tempted to start panicking.

I focus on my gasping breathes, trying to calm down. I cautiously open my eyes again, this time prepared for the light, and take in my surrounding.

I see my purse lying a few feet away, and feel a rush of relief. I brace myself against the pain and slowly inch my way over to it, praying my phone is still there.

I finally get to it and am shocked and relived to find not only my phone, but my wallet too. I pull my phone out, and open it, my fingers posed to dial.

But my mind blanks on me, and I can't remember the number. I feel the panic starting to build again, and close my eyes, trying not to cry. Knowing that panicking right now isn't going to help at all.

I follow my yoga teacher's advice and focus on clearing my mind. Amazing how I could never achieve that during class. Finally the panic subsides and I'm able to think again.

I dial quickly, and wait for a ring… and wait… and wait. Finally I get an answer, just not the one I was waiting for. "I'm sorry, the number you dialed is currently unavailable…"

I slam the phone shut, laughing hysterically. Imagine misdialing 911. I laugh until I'm crying and gasping for breathes. I slowly open the phone again, and while dialing, notice that my battery is almost dead.

Praying that my battery will last, and that I dialed correctly this time, I wait for the ring again. This time I don't have to wait long.

"911 Emergency dispatcher. What's you emergency?" the voice answers tiredly. I don't blame her seeing as its two o'clock in the morning.

Choking back the pain, I answer in a whisper. "Help me." That can't be my voice.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" the voice answers in response.

I roll my eyes mentally at the pet name, since I'm in too much pain to actually do it. "I was raped. I'm cold…" That voice again whispers.

"Can you tell me where you are? Are there any signs?" the once soothing voice now getting annoyingly close to patronizing.

Like I can remember, it took awhile for me to remember how to dial 911! "I don't know." Seriously, whose voice is that? Cause it's certainly not mine.

"It's alright, sweetie. I'm tracking your call, help will be there soon." the voice now grating on my already frayed nerves.

I nod my head, momentarily forgetting that she can't see me. "Okay." that same scratchy voice answers. I nod my head again, trying to keep awake, but the movement only serving to intensify the pain.

"Keep talking to me, sweetheart. How are you feeling?" the voice grates in my ear.

How am I feeling? Other than the fact that my entire left side went numb awhile ago, and I'm freezing my derriere off, I'm perfectly fine! "My leg hurts." that voice stating the obvious.

"What's wrong with your leg?" the voice rudely breaking into my thoughts.

What do you think is wrong with my leg? It is hurt, obviously. "Met…" that voice trailing off with a cross between a scream and a groan.

I feel my eyes start closing again, and fight to keep them open, but the pain in my head and leg have other ideas. I feel myself starting to black out.

The last thing that registers in my mind is the sound of sirens…

* * *


	2. Familiar With White

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU, I only think I do...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Mercy General Hospital  
January 13, 2006  
12:45 pm_

I'm blinded by white when I open my eyes. The first thought that goes through my mind is that I've died. Until I hear the familiar sound of a hospital, squeaking wheels, doctor's pages, a woman crying.

I hear a door open, and slowly turn my head toward the sound. A woman walks in, and comes to stand at the side of the bed. We both study each other for a moment, before she breaks the silence. "I'm Detective Olivia Benson. Do you remember what happened?" she asks in the same patronizing voice as the woman on the phone.

I roll my eyes, physically this time, and turn my head so I can look at the ceiling. "If I told you I have amnesia would you leave me alone?" my voice still sounding a little scratchy, but not as bad.

I watch as she tries unsuccessfully to hide a grin at my sarcastic question. She shakes her head as she pull a chair away from the wall and drags it to the side of the bed. She doesn't say anything as she sits down and makes herself comfortable.

I sigh, rolling my eyes again. She seems like she's almost as stubborn as I am. "I take it that's a no. And to answer your question, no, I don't remember much about the attack." my voice sounding a bit stronger.

She nods her head as she pulls out a notebook and pen. "Let's start with your name then. You do remember that, don't you?" she asks looking back at me.

I squint my eyes, trying to remember if my wallet was still in my purse. "My ID was in my purse. Or did you guys not find it?" my voice starting to irritate my throat, causing me to cough.

She reaches over to the side table and hands me a cup of ice chips. "Oh, we found your purse. Everything was in it, except your ID. Any idea why that is?" she asks, patently waiting for me to finish with the chips.

I shrug my shoulders, swallowing the melting ice, before look at her. "I don't know. Maybe the freak who did this to me took it as a souvenir." I hand her the cup to set back down.

She nods, as she settles back into the chair. "Maybe he did. But you still haven't answered me. What's your name?" she asks again, tapping her pen against the notebook.

I shift in the uncomfortable bed, trying to relieve some of the pressure on my left side. "My name is Rosangela Adessi. Happy?" I glare at her as she continues to tap the pen.

She finally stop, but only because she starts writing down my name. "Rosangela? That's an interesting name. How do you spell it?" she looks up briefly, waiting for the spelling.

I shift on the bed again, this time trying to push the blanket off. "R-O-S-A-N-G-E-L-A. It's Italian." my voice sounding distant as I reveal that fact.

She stands up and pulls the blanket down, resulting in a glare from me. "It's pretty. Do you have any family or friends we can call for you?" she questions, choosing to ignore my glare.

I turn my head to face the opposite wall, torn between laughing and crying. "No, there no family. But there is a friend who needs to be called. His name is Luke Traiylor. T-R-A-I-Y-L-O-R."

She writes down the name, and then looks down at me, noticing my red eyes. And, thankfully, thinks that if from the pain. "I'll get the doctor to up your medicine. And, here, it's a card for Victims Services, call them. My numbers on the back, so if you remember anything at all, you call me. Alright?" she smiles at me then walks out of the room.

I look at the card she handed me and smirk as I crumple it and toss it across the room. I groan as a nurse walks in and wordlessly ups my morphine. I feel my eyes getting heavy.

This time when I pass out, all I see is white...

* * *


	3. Entrance Of Purple Innocence

**Disclaimer: SVU is not mine... but I wouldn't mind if Elliot was...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Mercy General Hospital  
January 16, 2006  
10:43 AM_

I'm sitting here while a nurse pokes at my injured left knee, and almost have to bite through my lip to keep from screaming. The pain is simply excruciating. No, I've been in excruciating pain before... this isn't quite as bad, quite being the key word. At least before I had something to look forward to, something to take my mind off the pain.

She moves her hand up to my hipbone, and this time I do scream. "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" she asks. No, my shattered hip doesn't hurt at all, I just felt like screaming for no reason. I shake my head as I push her hands away for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, it hurts. But still you keep on pushing on it." I tell her with a forced grin, my frustration seeping through. I turn my head toward the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my pale face, and blood shot eyes in the mirror. I guess all the nights of no sleep are starting to catch up.

I run my hand through my tangled black hair, thinking that my stylist is going to have a hissy fit when he sees it. I hear the door open and roll my eyes, not looking forward to my visitor.

She walks in and pulls the chair from the wall back over to the bed, and sits down. "You know Detective; I'm going to ask them to bring in a more comfortable chair, seeing as you seem to be here all the time. That chair can't be too comfy." I say, glaring at the nurse as I push her hands away again.

She smiles, pulling out her notebook and pen, just like she's done for the past three days. "You're right, it's not." she then turns to the nurse, "Could you give us a minute?" she asks, her tone clearly stating that it wasn't a question.

The nurse opened her mouth to protest, but Detective Benson's look quickly silenced her. She nods her head, and walks out the door… slowly. I keep my eyes on her and count in my head like I've done so many times before. It only takes thirteen seconds to walk from the bed to the door; she drags it out to eighteen.

Finally the door closes and Detective Benson turns her attention back to me. "How are you doing?" she dives right in. I laugh, immediately regretting it as the pain shots through my left side. I slam my eyes closed and grit my teeth against the pain.

Detective Benson quickly stands up and lays her hand against mine. "Are you okay, Rosangela? Do you need me to get a doctor?" she asks. I groan as the pain subsides, and then smirk up at her.

"I'm fine. But you seem to be hard of hearing." I tell her, my voice finally returning to normal. She raises her eyebrows in question as she sits back down in her chair.

She starts tapping her pen against the notebook, something she doesn't even notice she's doing. "What do you mean?" she asks, smirking as she ignores the glare I shoot at her.

I roll my eyes, my trademark move, as she continues her tapping, knowing it's annoying me. "What I mean is you can't seem to get it through your head that I don't remember anything. No matter how many times you ask the answer is going to be the same." I reply, reaching up to rub my eyes. She's about to say something, when she's interrupted by an exclamation of 'Mommy!'

I almost pass out as I'm attacked by a blur of purple…

* * *


	4. Sleepy Brown Eyes

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. This is simply my mind not agreeing...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Mercy General Hospital  
January 16, 2006  
12:58 PM_

I open my eyes and am immediately overwhelmed by a cloud of brown hair. I bury my face in it, inhaling the comforting, childlike scent. I lie there, rubbing my hand over her tiny back, loving the feeling of holding my daughter again.

I tense up when I hear the door squeak open, knowing that it wasn't the nurse, seeing as she had been in about ten minutes before. I slowly lift my head up and turn to face the door… and my visitor.

I sigh, part in relief, part in annoyance, as my best friend creeps into the room, not realizing I'm awake. "You know, it's a good thing you never followed through on the whole secret agent thing. Cause a giant walks quieter than you." I laugh as he jumps at the sound of my voice.

Luke grins as he walks over to the bed and leans down to kiss my forehead. "How you doing, angel?" he asks, giving me a questioning look at the way I tensed up when he invaded my space.

I roll my eyes and push him away. "I'm fine. And don't call me angel." I turn my attention back to my daughter as she shifts in her sleep. I run my hand through her hair, can't believing how much it's grown since the last time I saw her.

He pulls the chair over to the bed and sits down, watching me silently. I cringe under his scrutiny, hating the way he always seems to look right through me. "Stop staring. You're creeping me out." I try to diffuse the uncomfortable silence.

He sighs, leaning forward in the chair. "She misses you. She's always asking when you're coming home." he tells me, starting up the argument we've been having for the past three years.

I drop my head back onto the pillow and close my eyes. "I'm not having this conversation again. Just drop it already!" I snap, trying to keep my voice steady. Knowing that having a full out screaming match with him isn't a good idea.

He puts his hands up, surrendering the fight for now. He's quiet for a moment, before he opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again. He sits back, looking at me like there's something he wants to say.

I roll my eyes, hating it when people don't just say what's on their minds. "You look like a fish. Just spit it out already." I say quietly, having a bad feeling about this.

He folds his hands and leans his head against them, looking like he's in prayer. He then looks up at me, his blue eyes piercing into mine. "I called your parents." he tells me.

I sit up quickly, dislodging my sleeping daughter in the processes. "You did what?" my exclamation coming out as a screech as the pain shoots through my left side. The machine monitoring my heart starts going crazy, alerting the nurse.

She rushes in, and quickly picks my crying daughter off of the bed and hands her to Luke. She pushes me back down and moves to up my morphine. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave." she says, turning to Luke.

I reach my arms out for my daughter, giving her a hug and kiss. She clings to me as Luke picks her up, disorientated from being woken up. He walks across the room, with her over his shoulder.

I smile as she reaches up to rub her watery eyes, wishing with all my heart that they were brown…

* * *


	5. Reminiscing With Blues

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. If I did Elliot and Olivia would be so much more than 'partners'.**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Mercy General Hospital  
January 17, 2006  
5:15 PM_

I open my eyes, taking in my reflection in the mirror. The bruises have turned into an ugly yellow-green shade that really doesn't work with my complexion. The scratches have started healing, causing them to itch. I've never been good with the whole hands off thing. I have scars on my arms from scratching at the chicken pox's when I was younger.

I lean heavily against the sink, hoping I'll be able to get back to the bed before my guard nurse comes in to check on me. I turn on the water, attempting to wash my face one-handed. I splash the water on my face, coming close to losing my balance.

I maneuver my way to the toilet, sitting down to take the pressure off my leg. I reach for the brush, tired of being a mess. I run the brush through my hair, thinking back to the argument with Luke.

We've been friend for, like, ever. I still can't believe he'd do something like this, when he knows what happened. He thinks that my parents have a right to know what happened. But they lost any rights to me or my daughter three years ago.

I push myself up, trying to stand up when my leg gives out on me. I barely miss hitting my head on the edge of the sink. It's sad, Rosangela Adessi, the girl who could run a mile in five and a half minutes, and beat up all the boys growing up, can't even stand up on her own.

I can't help but laugh hysterically, briefly flashing back to the ally as I do, wondering what happened to the tough-as-nails girl who won the heart of the most popular guy in school, the girl who had everything not too long ago.

Now she's nothing more than a broken woman, crying her heart out on the hospital bathroom floor. That's how Detective Benson finds me five minutes later, looking worse than I did before.

She helps me up, bearing most of my weight, and guides me back to the bed. I lay down, the tears still falling, finally letting myself mourn. She sits next to me, rubbing me arm, like I would do when I would put Karma to bed.

She just sits there, not saying anything, let me cry. But silence has always driven me insane. "I don't know how to do this. I've never been allowed to be weak. I wasn't allowed to cry." I vent, trying to make her understand.

She nod, still rubbing my arm, letting me finally get this out. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay to cry." she soothes. I nod my head, too, not really knowing why. I wrap my arms around me tighter, rocking my body to a silent rhythm.

I let the rhythm calm me, trying to numb my mind to the pain. Both physical and emotional. "I don't know how to do this without him. I couldn't even be a mother without him." I cry.

I close my eyes, seeing my broken world in shades of blue…

* * *


	6. Revisiting Green

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. And I'm running out of one-liners...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_SVU Squad Room  
January 20, 2006  
3:47 PM_

I hate guns. I guess most mothers would, but I really, really hate guns. So being in a room with a bunch of people carrying them isn't the most comfortable situation.

I ignore the looks I'm getting from the officers. The ones of pity and understanding, and the 'other' looks. My momma always said that my looks were going to get me into trouble one day. But like she's one to talk…

I shift my crutches again as another person trips on them. I stare at the closed door that Detective Benson got called into right when we walked in… or in my case, hobbled.

She brought me in so I could give my formal statement. I swear, the woman is a pain in the butt! She just won't take no for an answer. But I admire that about her, she reminds me of myself.

I sigh, getting bored with watching everyone run around like chickens with their heads cut off. So I start entertaining myself by counting the ceiling panels. I get to eighty nine before the door opens and Detective Benson walks out with a man.

She walks over to me and reaches out a hand to help me up. "This is my partner, Elliot Stabler. We're going to go into the interview room, and then we'll talk. Okay?" she asks, reverting back to that patronizing voice.

I roll my eyes as I situate the crutches under my arms. "Then do I get a cookie since I've been such a good little girl?" I ask, imitating my daughter's voice.

She laughs, and I see Detective Stabler grin from behind her. She leads me across the room, and guides me to the table. I sit down heavily, hating that it hurts this much just to walk across the room.

Detective Stabler closes the door behind us and leans against the wall while Benson sits down across from me. "Alright, let's start at the beginning. What were you doing out that early in the morning?" Benson asks; traces of the patronizing voice lingering.

I shift in my chair, getting comfortable before I answer. "I have a hard time falling asleep at night. Walking tires me out, helps me sleep." I prop my elbows on the table, resting me chin against my folded hands.

She nods, writing something in the ever-present notebook. "Did you see anything out of the ordinary before he pulled you into the ally?" she questions, not even looking up.

I shake my head, thinking back, trying to remember. "Not really. It's was dark so I couldn't see much. Then all of a sudden I was being bulldozed from the side." I relate, my neck getting stiff from the position I'm in.

This time Detective Stabler is the one to ask the question. "Did he say anything at all?" he asks, crossing his arms and shifting against the wall.

I grin at Benson, who'd looked up at me after finishing writing. "Ah, so your partner does speak. And no, Detective, he never said anything. And I didn't see his face at all, he was wearing a mask."

He nods, coming around the table and pulling out a chair. I yawn, last night's lack of sleep catching up with me. "How'd he break your leg?" Stabler asks as he sits down next to Detective Benson.

I rest my forehead against the table top, shuddering as the mention of my leg sends a jolt of pain down it. "He'd pushed me down, but something distracted him for a moment. He loosened is grip, so I kicked at him. I tried running, but he, uh… found a metal pole. I could hear the bones shatter." I mumble, hating having to relive this.

Detective Benson reaches her hand across the table and brushes it over my hair. "It's okay, take your time, Rosangela." she whispers, running her hand through my unruly mane of hair.

I quickly sit up, pushing her hand away. "I'm just thinking of all the ways I could have overpowered him. I've been taking self-defense classes for years, and when I really need to use them, I pull a blank! What's the use?" I laugh, bordering on hysteric again.

Detective Stabler quickly speaks up. "It's not your fault, Rosangela. You did everything you could." he says, trying to reassure me.

Benson nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with him. "He's right. And more importantly, you survived." her voice starting to get patronizing again, annoying me to no end.

I laugh, envying their view on surviving. I look down, refusing to look at them, and pick a piece of lint of the #1 Mom shirt that Luke and Karma gave me for Mother's Day last year.

I sigh, thinking about Karma's face when she saw me in the hospital. The fear and sadness in her eyes killed me. I guess she remembered the last time we had been in the hospital more than I thought.

I still don't know what I ever did to deserve her, but whatever it was I'm so glad I did. But I do know that she doesn't deserve a mother like me. It's not fair to her. "Rosangela, are you okay?" Detective Benson's voice brings me back to reality.

I look up, tears brimming in my green eyes, and smile sadly...

* * *


	7. Red Days Gone By

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. What else can I say?**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Home of Lucas Traiylor  
January 23, 2006  
9:44 AM_

I open my eyes and come face to face with a blood red wall. Luke definitely isn't afraid of color, I'll give him that. I still can't believe I agree to stay with him. But it's not like I have anywhere else to go at the moment.

The doctor would only release me if I had someone staying with me. And the only possible choices were my parents or Luke, and I've vowed to never step foot in my parents house ever again.

On the bright side though, I now get to see my daughter more. It's amazing how much energy the girl has. She can run around the house five times in the time it takes me to get across the room… I know that from experience.

I roll painfully onto my back and stretch my arms over my head, yawning. I then prop myself up on my elbows and carefully swing my legs off the side of the bed. Holding back a groan as I push myself into a sitting position, trying to be quiet so not to alert Luke.

I'm so glad to be out of that hospital though. I swear if that nurse poked at my leg one more time, I was going to smack her. I have to admit though; I'm going to miss the almost daily banter with Detective Benson. Not many people appreciate my sarcasm like she does. Especially Luke…

Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy and all, but he can be as dull as a bored sometimes. When we were growing up, he missed out on a lot of fun. He'd refuse to climb trees and build forts with Chris and me… I guess that's what happens when you let that life go to your head.

But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. At least he's doing well enough… like you'd ever find Luke Traiylor in anything less than a penthouse.

I limp my way across the room, and pull some clothes out of my bag. Too bad I didn't bring my favorite sweatshirt, because my leg is already telling me that it's going to be cold today.

I change as quickly as my sore body will let me than start making my way to the door. But as I pass the closet I notice something sticking out from underneath the door, and lean down to pull it out.

I can't help but laugh when I pull out my old sketch book. I open to the first page and am faced with some demented looking animal. I flip through it, letting the memories wash over me, laughing at some of the weird things I had drawn.

Then I get to a page near the end of the book, and come face to face with a drawing I did of Chris Tolbert and Luke. I'd drawn it before their falling out; they're standing next to each other, arms around shoulders, with a pair of crazy grins on their faces.

I close the book, wishing we could go back to that. Back when we'd sneak out at night to go down to the brook and try to scare each other with horror stories. Back when they had been able to be in the same room without trying to start world war three.

A knock on the door startles me back into reality. The one were Luke is a patronizing control freak, and Chris… well, let's just say he's not around to keep him in line.

Luke lays a hand on my shoulder, causing me to tense. "You alright, angel? You seem kind of out of it." he says, squeezing my shoulder.

I shrug my shoulder to get his hand off me. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about something, that's all." I reply, giving him a convincing grin.

He notices the sketch book in my hand, and his eyes darken. "Am I right to assume that 'something' is named Chris?" he asks, his voice calm and steady. But knowing him as well as I do, I can hear the edge in it.

I roll my eyes in annoyance, tossing the book onto the bed. I situate the crutches under my arms before I turn to face him. "He was our friend, Luke. You could at least pretend to be sad he's gone." I snap, pushing my way around him.

His laugh is harsh behind me. "Oh, I'm sad he's gone, Ros'. But certainly not for the same reasons you are." he smirks, only he could any humor in the situation.

I ignore him and keep limping my way to the living room. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and wish that I didn't find that stupid book. Luke always got a little edgy whenever the Chris subject came up.

I hear him following me, and know that he's not going to let this die easily. "What, not going to defend yourself, Rosangela? What happened to the girl who beat up two guys for calling her a girly girl?" he laughs.

I keep silent, trying not to let his insulting tone get to me. He finally realizes that I'm not going to take the bait, and takes a different route. "Rosangela Zoë Adessi, don't you dare walk away from me!" he snaps.

I stop walking, and shake my head a disbelieving grin on my face. "You did not just use my middle name." I mutter, finding it funny that he would have to stoop that low. "I'm not walking away from you. I'm hobbling… there's a difference." I inform him smugly.

But in my head, all I see in that blood red wall…

* * *


	8. Yellow Family Ties

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. ... that's it.**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Central Park, Manhattan, NY  
January 26, 2006  
3:47 PM_

I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and taking in the fresh air. It's good to be outside again; it's been torture being confined inside.

I hear a squeal come from the jungle gym, and open my eyes, quickly focusing on my daughter in her bright yellow jacket. I smile as I watch her chase a little boy around, a worm held firmly in her hand. Like mother, like daughter I guess.

I get up and walk over, catching her by the hood as she speeds by me. "Karma Grace, let's be nice and not traumatize this poor kid." I laugh, picking her up. "You're only five and you're already chasing boys. What am I going to do when you start dating, huh?" I ask, brushing her curly brown hair away from her face.

She just laughs, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "I love you, mommy." she says, her words muffled. I sigh as she displays anther trait inherited from me. I've always been good at charming people when I have to.

I turn my face and plant a kiss on her head. "Mommy loves you too, baby." I whisper as I make my way toward the walking path. I go slowly, earning a few glares from joggers, going as fast as my sore leg will let me.

I haven't gone more then ten feet when I hear my name called out in an all too familiar voice. I ignore them and keep walking, not wanting to even look at them, much less talk.

But one thing they are is persistent; at least when it comes to stuff they really want. "Rosangela Zoë, would you please stop walking? This really isn't good for your father's arthritis." she pleads. My mother, one of the proudest Italian women I've ever known, pleading… a day I though I'd never see.

I finally stop, but only because my mother cuts around me and steps into my path. "Get out of my way, Mom. I don't want to talk to either of you." I tell her firmly.

My father walks up and stands next to my mother, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Show some respect when you speak to your mother, Rosangela." he demands with a frown.

Karma looks and then waves her hand enthusiastically, beaming at them. I watch my mother look at her warily, backing away half a step. I sigh, setting Karma down. "Baby, why don't you go pick Mommy some clovers, okay?" I say, smiling as she runs into the grass.

I then turn back to my parents, glaring at them. "What do you want? What could possibly bring you to see me after all these years?" I demand using the same tone my father did.

They're silent for a few second, before my mother speaks up. "Lucas called us, told us that you had been rap… um, what happened. We wanted to see you, and make sure you where okay." She offers, thinking that that explanation is going to sway me.

I laugh bitterly, rubbing my hands over my face, wishing they would just disappear. "Funny, you're so worried about me when you find out that I've been raped, after the fact. But you didn't worry at all when I was in labor. You never called, or came to see me, to make sure I was okay." I vent, stressing the word raped.

"In fact I seem to remember you telling me that you didn't care what happened to me anymore. That you disowned me… I wasn't your daughter anymore. At least as long as I refused get an abortion." I finish, staring at them. Daring them to deny any of it.

My father is the one who speaks up this time. "We thought it would be best for you. You're too young to have a baby. It would have been better if you didn't have that responsibility. It would have been better for everyone." he says calmly.

I pull myself up to my full height, staring straight into the eyes of the man who used to be my hero. "You thought it would be best to end that beautiful little girl's life? Just so that your lives would be easier? Or maybe it was because I gave the Adessi family a bad name. I mean, come on, it wouldn't be the best for our family name if it got out that seventeen year old Rosangela Zoë Adessi was pregnant! God forbid high society find out that your granddaughter was conceived outside of marriage." I exclaim, getting really angry.

Neither of them can look me in the eye when I finish with my rant. They don't even bother to protest, telling me that my suspicions were correct. "But do tell me, dear parents, what is worse… having the world know you have an illegitimate grandchild, or having everyone know that you kicked your pregnant daughter out of the house? But don't start feeling guilty about it now. It was your loss, not mine…" I point over to where Karma is chatting up an elderly couple, who are completely infatuated with her.

I look back at them, my jaw set. "You've seen how I am. Now leave and don't ever talk to me, or my daughter, again. You made your choice six years ago… now you have to live with it." I turn and walk over to my daughter, beaming as the couple goes on about how adorable she is.

But suddenly that yellow sun doesn't feel so warm anymore…

* * *


	9. Silver Mementos

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. I don't own SVU. I don't own SVU... maybe if I say it enough it _won't_ be true...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

* * *

_Apartment of Rosangela Adessi  
January 29, 2006  
1:13 AM_

I stare blankly into the dark, trying not to think, just sitting in the middle of my neatly made bed. I can't sleep; my mind is racing, meaning I'm going to have some really messed up nightmares if I fall asleep.

I've always had that problem, even when I was younger. Sometimes they'd get so bad I wake up crying. But these ones… they're far worse. Flashes of the rape, of the problems I had when I was in labor with Karma, memories of when my parents kicked me out. But mostly I keep getting flashes of Chris, and they all involve a gun or knife.

I reach over to my side table and pick up a tiny silver chain, with a silver and jade ring hanging from it. I finger it gently, remembering when I got it. Remembering a better time. I close my eyes, immediately regretting it as Chris's lifeless eyes flash through my mind.

I curl my fingers tight around the ring, and slide down to my side, gasping at the jolt of pain that results. I cry silently, even though there's no one there to hear me. I really wish I had Karma to hold right now, she always know how to make me feel better.

I rock myself slowly, to the beat of Chris's favorite song, one he used to sing to Karma when she was a baby. I let my tears go unchecked, needing sometime to vent, to cry without having to explain myself.

I cry because I'm finally realizing that it does more bad than good keeping everything bottled up. That it's actually healthy to cry. And if anyone has reason to cry, it's me. At least that's what Detective Benson told me yesterday,

She came by Luke's to check on me, and Karma fell head over heels. They were wrapped around each others finger by the time she left. I was actually a little jealous. Karma has never warmed up that fast, or much, to anther woman.

Right before she left she told me that I had to be an amazing mother, to have a daughter that great. But she wouldn't think so if you knew the truth, knew what happened… what I did. But it still felt good, having someone tell me I was doing really well with her. I haven't had anyone say something like that since Chris…

I loosen my hand up slowly, looking at the imprint the ring left from clutching it so tight. I just stare at it, at the moment hating it, just because it's silver. I hate the color silver, and I love it. Silver was Chris's favorite color, mine was always jade.

Sucks that it was his favorite color that took him away from me…

* * *


	10. Pretty In Pink

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. Guess that reverse phycology thing didn't work...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

**AN: This chapter is really just a filler. I'm getting closer to giving ya'll some answers... and more questions!**

* * *

_Streets of Manhattan, NY  
February, 4, 2006  
3:04 PM_

I walk slowly through the rain, trying to dodge the masses running for cover. I groan as some business man with his phone glued to his ear rams into me, then just keeps walking without a backward glance. I think it's sad when people are like that. They always have their phones to the ears, like it's a growth, and the only important thing in the world is what the other person is saying.

It's even worse on days like this, when everyone only cares about getting to where they need to be, doing what they need to do, and anyone in their path beware. I used to be like that, always having my phone out. Talking to someone, going somewhere, doing something. I always had someone to hang out with, whether I knew them well, or not.

I was popular, the girl who bullied everyone else. Thought she was above it all, that the world owed her, not the other way around. But my view was changed, abruptly, when everything started to change, and my carefully crafted, sheltered world started to come down around me.

It all changed when I met Chris. He didn't care that I was Miss Popular, that I ruled the school. He actually ignored me the first couple weeks he was there. We didn't come from the same worlds; everyone thought that we'd have nothing in common.

But they were wrong… at least after he took me down a few notches, more than once. We eventually became really good friends, so did Chris and Luke. The three of us became inseparable; you never saw one of us without the others somewhere close. But that was a long time ago…

I sigh as someone else plows into me, knocking me into the wall. "Oh, I'm fine, really. You don't have to stop." I mutter under my breath as they continue walking. I turn my head, looking at the display in the window of the store I'd gotten pushed against.

I smile when I see the Valentine knickknacks, and stuffed animals. I'd almost forgotten that Valentines is in ten days. I slowly ease myself away from the walk, watching carefully for anyone about to run into me again, and make my way into the store.

I walk over to the stuffed animal display, fingering a soft pink bear gently, smiling when I remember the Valentines bear that Chris and Luke had bought for me a few years back. It was a huge white bear holding a pink rose in his paw. I hear soft footsteps behind me and turn around, coming face to face with an elderly lady. "Can I help you find anything, dear?" she asks with a smile.

I grin back, shaking my head. "No, I'm just looking around right now." I reply, turning back to the display, and picking up the small bear, thinking that Karma would love having it to add to her collection.

The lady comes around and stands next to me at the display. "Looking for someone special?" she questions, a mischievous grin on her face. She starts re-situating the display, setting the animals upright.

I look up at her, seeing the spark in her smoky gray eyes. I smile back, tucking my hair behind my ears. "Yeah, I am. I'm looking for something to get my daughter." I say, holding up the pink bear.

Her grin gets even bigger at that, and she touches the bears head gently. "Really? How old is she?" she asks, curiosity dancing over her face.

I laugh; think about how much she reminds me of my late grandmother. "She just turned five in October. She's a handful." I say, grinning at the understatement.

I turn toward the counter, pulling out my wallet. She follows me, walking around to the register. "Well, she must be beautiful, with having you as a mother. Even if her father isn't as good looking." she smirks, as she rings up the bear.

I laugh, handing over the money. "Thank you." I take the bag, heading for the door. I look back, watching her walk over to another lady, and start talking.

I grin, holding the pink teddy bear close.

* * *


	11. Shades Of Gray

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. But I think I'm getting closer... yeah right...**

**Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing spledor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more than my tragic story**

**AN: This whole chapter is a flashback, with those answers and questions I promised you... Enjoy!**

* * *

**Flashback**

_Apartment Building of Rosangela Adessi  
October 15, 2004  
4:13 PM_

I run up the sidewalk quickly, wanting to get out of the rain. I get to the door and pull out my keys, the rain getting them wet almost instantly, causing them to slip through my fingers. I sigh, bending over to pick them up just as my phone rings.

I pull out my phone while simultaneously trying to fit the key into the lock. I answer it by the third ring, tucking it between my head and shoulder, and going through my keys, trying to find the right one. "Hello?" I answer absently, getting frustrated with my keys.

I hear a child's voices on the other end before a woman answers. "Ms. Adessi? This is Beth Rogers, from Tiny Tikes Daycare. Your daughter was supposed to be picked up a half hour ago… I was just wondering when you were going to be here." Beth says, an arrogant undertone tainting her voice.

I smirk as I finally get the key in the hole. "Chris was supposed to pick her up, and his car is here. You sure you got the right kid?" I ask as I turn the lock, pushing open the door.

I hear Ms. Rogers sigh from the other end. "Karma Adessi, three years old. Brown hair, blue eyes, wearing a purple and blue shirt that says Mommy's little angel on it. Sound like your daughter to you?" she asks in a pleasantly annoyed voice.

I step into the lobby and nod at the receptionist behind the front desk, making my way to the elevators. I push the up button and switch the phone to the other ear, shifting my purse as the strap digs into my throat.

I step into the elevator; a little shocked that piece of junk came down so fast. "Yeah, it sounds like her. I just don't understand why Chris didn't pick her up yet. He never flakes on me." I mutter, jabbing the button for the fourth floor repeatedly till it finally lights up.

I hear Karma in the background and frown, wondering what could be so important that he couldn't call me and tell me he couldn't pick her up. "I'll be there in ten minutes to pick her up, Ms. Rogers." I don't wait for her response, hanging up the phone. I walk down the hall quickly, entertaining myself with ways I can punish Chris for flaking on me. But as I get to my door, I freeze….

The door is cracked, Chris never leaves the door cracked or unlocked. I slowly bring my hand up, pushing the door open slowly. "Chris? Are you here? This so isn't funny, Chris." I call into the apartment, walking slowly to the living room.

I come to a dead halt when I get to the couch and see a pair of feet sticking out front the side. I force myself to move around it, and choke back a scream when I see Chris. He's lying on the floor, the carpet under him stained red.

I rush to his side, quickly putting my hands to his neck, and sighing in relief when I feel a slight pulse. I quickly pull out my phone, dialing 911. I hear someone pick up and don't even give them time to answer. "I need help. S-someone stabbed my boyfriend. He's barely breathing." I cry into the phone, quickly rattling off my address.

The operator stays on the line with me until cops get there, pounding on my door. I quickly jump up and open it, leading the paramedics to Chris. I hover in the background as they work on him, trying to get him stable enough to move.

They move him onto the gurney and begin pushing it to the door. I start to follow them, when an officer grabs my arm. "We need to ask you some questions, Miss." he says, obviously a rookie.

I pull my arm away from him, and continue to the door. "I'm going with my boyfriend. After I know he's ok, you can ask me all the question you want." I throw over my shoulder, rushing to catch up with the paramedics.

They load him into the ambulance, and I climb in after them, quickly settling myself on the bench. I grab his hand, holding on tight while they work on him, shouting orders to each other.

We get about half way to the hospital when a machine starts beeping rapidly. They quickly push me out of the way, saying something about him flat lining, and that the knife had hit an artery, he was bleeding out, ect.

Everything's a blur as they pull out the paddles, and start charging them. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming when they shock him, his body aching off the gurney.

They do it three more times before the beeping stops, and everything goes silent. I'm confused for a moment, before one of them says to call it. I can't hold it anymore, and start sobbing, pulling my knees up to my chest as they start putting the paddles away.

All I can think as my world goes gray is that I'm glad my daughter wasn't here to see this…

**End Flashback**

* * *


	12. Aqua Fall

**Disclaimer: I own it... trust me, I do... really... maybe... so not...**

**AN: I'm back! Sorry bout the wait, had a MAJOR case of writers block... but here's another chapter. It's a flashback again, just because I like writing them.**

**AN Part II: Here's a little part from a earlier chapter, something that sort of ties in with this...** _"I sigh, thinking about Karma's face when she saw me in the hospital. The fear and sadness in her eyes killed me. I guess she remembered the last time we had been in the hospital more than I thought." _

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Flashback**

_Apartment of Rosangela Adessi  
October 21, 2004  
3:59 AM_

I sit on the tiled floor in the bathroom, my head resting against my folded hands. I haven't been sleeping too well these days, not that it's any surprise. My friends tell me I look terrible, that I'm going to collapse from exhaustion if I don't start taking care of myself.

But every time I blink I see all the blood in my mind… I can't even fathom what I'd see if I closed my eyes for any longer than that. His body aching off the gurney as they shocked him, the knife laying by his unconscious form… the look on Karma's face when I told her that Chris went to live with Fishy… her fish she'd flushed down the toilet a year ago.

Or maybe it would be the faces of everyone at the funeral. Luke's stony, guarded face, the look he'd perfected over the years. Or Chris's mother, as she broke down when they put her baby into the ground. Maybe my parents, the look of something akin to relief in their eyes. Relief steaming from the fact that their daughter hadn't gotten a chance to mess up their lives more by marrying into a poor family.

I sigh, pushing myself up to stand in front of the mirror, my legs cramped from sitting on the uncomfortable aqua blue floor for over three hours, and my head pounds, from lack of sleep and too much crying. I reach up and open the medicine cabinet, pulling out the prescription sleeping pill my doctor had given me. I hold them up to my face, squinting to make out the words in the dim light that's seeping under the door.

Rosangela Z. Adessi. It would have been Rosangela Z. Tolbert if someone hadn't thought it necessary to kill my fiancé. The police still have no leads on whoever did it. No fingerprints, fibers, hair, footprints… anything. They figure the killer was wearing latex gloves, hence why he, or she, left the knife.

There was no forced entry, meaning Chris knew whoever killed him. This is kind of scary, because Chris and I hung with the same people. Meaning I could unknowingly let my fiancé's murderer into my house without even knowing it.

I shake my head, causing a flood of pain to rush through it, and jerkily open the pill bottle. I tip the bottle, trying to pour two of them into my hand, but I'm shaking so bad that I end up spilling half of them on the floor. I close my eyes, feeling a wave of unexplained panic wash over me, and slowly lower myself to the floor again.

I drop my hand to the floor, trying to keep my balance as I start to break down. I let go of the bottle, hearing it clatter lightly to the floor, and clasp my free hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my sobs. The last thing I need if for Luke or Karma to wake up and come in here. Which is what is going to happen if I don't get myself under control, because I am not quiet when I cry.

I sit there crying, wishing, not for the first time, that I'll wake up in bed and find that this was all just a really bad nightmare. Wishing that I could just let go and not be strong for once… that people didn't expect me to be strong. That it's not part of my reputation…

My hand starts slipping on the floor and knocks into the scattered pills. I open my eyes, staring at them, both loving and hating the thoughts running through my head at the sight of them. One side of my brain, the rebellious, selfish side, starts whispering. Saying that it would be so easy, I'd get to see him again. I'd get to be happy again. It whispers, seducing, because it knows that it wouldn't take much to get me to do it.

The other side, the mother, screams at me… reminding me of everything I have to live for. My beautiful daughter… screams, asking who's going to take care of her. Screaming, because it too knows how easy it would be. But the whisper is seducing for a reason, and soon my pounding heart drowns out the screams…

I reach out quickly, not giving myself any time to think, to second guess. I swallow the handful, somehow finding myself standing in front of the mirror again. It's not till after Karma's plastic cup falls out of my lifeless hand that my brain catches up with my body, realizing what I've done…

I want to move, to find some way to undo what I've just done, but my body is frozen. My mind is no longer connected to my body. It feels like hours, and it feels like only seconds, before gravity takes over my lifeless form, and I fall to the ground, the shower curtain an innocent victim in the fall.

My eyes burn from the still falling tears, and the aqua tiles swarm before my eyes right before I succumb to darkness.

**End Flashback**


	13. Pastel Sunrise

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. I'd say something quirky, but it's too early and my brain is fried.**

**AN: This is really just a filler, there will be more 'action' in the next chapter... I hope...**

* * *

_Apartment Building of Rosangela Adessi  
February 15, 2006  
6:48 AM_

I sit up on the roof of the building, my hideaway. I come up here to think, when I need to escape. Right now I'm up here to escape from myself, from the memories. I still won't forgive myself for what I tried to do. It was reckless and irresponsible, and the last thing my daughter needed to go through.

I mean she had just lost Chris, the man who'd been a father figure to her all her life. The last thing she needed was to find her mother passed out on the bathroom floor from an overdose! The last thing she needed was having me as a mother; it's not fair to her.

I'd woken up in the hospital two days later to face Luke's wrath… he was mad. Not that I'd blame him, I'd be mad too. I was mad at myself! And confused, because I'd never been the type to think about suicide. I've always been the type to face my problems head on, I didn't run from them.

I watch the sun wake up, stretching its rays out across the sky. Painting the world with its pastel hues of pinks, purples and blues, turning the sky into a priceless masterpiece. I've always loved this time of day… before the tranquility of the morning is broken, when the sun is filtering through the fog creating a screen from the rest of the world.

I used to bring Karma up here in the mornings; she loved the waking up to the colors. It was our time together, mother daughter bonding. That was before everything happened though. I didn't trust myself around her, I still don't. That's why I ended up signing custody over to her 'uncle' Luke.

For weeks after, though, Luke refused to let me anywhere near medicine or anything sharp. He was always watching me, always questioning everything I did. I eventually got so sick of it I snapped and ended up slugging him. Only then did he know I was getting back to normal and loosened the leash.

To everyone it seemed like I had moved on, that I had come to accept that Chris wasn't coming back. But I still catch myself staring at the door at night, waiting for him to come in with flowers or some pieces of inexpensive jewelry to apologize for being later. And I still wear my silver and jade engagement ring on a chain around my neck.

I had managed not to think too much about his murder since my attack, focusing more on Karma. But it had changed when Detective Benson had asked me about what had happened. I guess it had come up in their investigation. Which has come to a dead end again… same as Chris's case has been for years.

She promised that she was going to do everything she could to find the freak who had done this to me, but I honestly don't care. I've got bigger problems to worry about… the first being how I'm going to get out of dinner at Luke's. I really don't want to be around him, not with everything going on in my mind lately.

We've gotten into so many fights since all this started… since Chris was killed. And it's only gotten worse since my attack. Maybe it's the fact that I was raped, but I'm always on edge when I'm around him. I can't help but flinch whenever he touches me. It never used to be like that… he's like a brother to me, has been since we were four.

But that can all wait until later… right now I'm just going to enjoy the colorful sunrise.


	14. Sick Of Green

**Disclaimer: If I didn't own them when I started this, do you really think I own them now?**

**AN: This one isn't as good as I hoped it be. And I'm back to green unless someone can give me a color for this chapter...**

* * *

_Home Of Luke Traiylor  
February 16, 2006  
5:45 PM_

I stand on the sidewalk outside of Luke's apartment trying to prepare myself for a night of arguments and insults. There's another car in the driveway next to Luke's that looks vaguely familiar. I roll my eyes at the 'Proud Parent' bumper sticker on the back fender of Luke's Porsche. As I walk by I lean down and rip it off, folding it and sticking it into my back pocket.

I get to the door and press the buzzer, holding it down because I know it annoys him. Once I let up on it the door buzzes and unlocks, and I head for the elevator. Despite the fact that Luke lives in a good apartment building with a doorman and cameras, the elevator is a piece of junk.

I wait impatiently, tapping my foot, earning a glare from the said doorman, or in this case door woman. She's never liked me, because she seems to think that Luke and I are a couple. Finally the elevator arrives and I have to wait while two upper class couples and a business man take their sweet time getting out.

They finally get out and make their way to the door, and I hurry into the elevator and jab the button for the third floor impatiently. Once there I walk four doors down to Luke's apartment and knock loudly. The door opens almost immediately and I come face to face with my mother.

I turn around and start walking back to the elevator, intent on leaving, but my daughter's voice stops me in my tracks. Luke is dead… I swear I'm going to kill him. Using my baby to get me in the same room as my parents… its low, even for him.

I turn around just as Karma plows into my legs, causing some pain to shoot through my not yet healed leg. She beams up at me, revealing her missing front tooth. "Hi mommy! Look, I losht my toofh!" she exclaims, trying to talk around the finger she stuck in the hole. I kneel down in front of her, grinning as she opens her mouth to show me the gap. "Wow, that's pretty neat. My baby's getting so big." I declared, kissing her face over and over again, causing her to laugh. I feel my mother's eyes on me, watching me interact with the granddaughter she'd disowned before she was even born.

I glare at her over my daughter's head as pick her up. I stand up and walk into the apartment, not saying a word to her. I find Luke sitting on the couch carrying on an animated conversation with my father. He looks up as I storm through the door, setting Karma on the recliner.

I look him in the eye, and I swear I see him flinch at the anger he sees. "What are they doing here?" I demand, putting my hands on my hips. He stands up and walks around to stand in front of me. "Answer me, Luke. What are they doing here?" I hiss, angry that he'd try this again.

He rubs his hand over his face, not meeting my eyes. "They wanted to talk to you. I knew you wouldn't give them a chance to explain themselves. So I had them come here." he mumbles, knowing what my reaction is going to be.

I scoff, rolling my eyes at his audacity. "Give them a chance to explain themselves? They don't have to explain anything! Their actions speak loud enough. Now you can tell them to take their 'explanation' and walk." I say, my voice getting louder.

My father protests then, "Don't talk about us like we're not here, young lady. If you want us to go, you tell us yourself." he says; his voice calm. That's my daddy, always the pacifist. It's my mother who's got the temper, most likely where I got mine from.

I ignore him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing me cave. "I'm going to go get something for this headache I feel coming on. They better not be here when I get out… otherwise I'm leaving." I tell Luke, turning toward the bathroom.

As I walk down the hall I hear my mother protesting, complaining about how I treated them. I close the door, leaning against it, trying to slow my breathing. I can't believe they actually thought that I'd fall for this little act of theirs.

I push myself away from the door, walking over to the medicine cabinet, trying to find some aspirin or something. I push the collection of outdated prescriptions around, not seeing anything I could use for my headache. So I move to the carry case that Luke keeps pack for when he has to go on business trips.

I find what I'm looking for right on the top and as I move to close the case, a flash of color on the bottom catches my eye. I reach in to grab it, all the while telling myself that I shouldn't be snooping around in his stuff. I pull out my hand, my eyes going wide at what I'd pulled out.

They'd never found them, which was perplexing but not really worth any concern. But why would Luke have them? One of them would be understandable, but both of them… I'm sure there's a good explanation, but all the ones I'm coming up with aren't very comforting.

I jump as Luke knocks on the door, glad that I had locked it behind me. "Ros, they're gone. You can come out now." He calls through the thick wooden door. I try to open my mouth to say something, but the panic is clogging my air way, making it hard to breathe much less talk.

He bangs on the door again, jolting me into action. I quickly put them back into the case, on the bottom where they were, and zip it up. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and flinch. If I go out there like this, he's going to know something's up.

I pull my hair back as best I can without a hair tie, the long strands refusing to stay put, and splash cold water on my face, hoping it'll help calm me down. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I'm going to see Detective Benson…

He bangs again, getting frustrated with my silence. "Come on angel, I'm sorry. Would you at least come out to spend sometime with your daughter?" he suggests. I finally get myself under control, and open the door slowly; using the anger I'd almost forgotten to mask the panic I'm feeling. I brush by him, going into the living room to where my daughter is; intent on having a good time with her.

But I really want nothing more than to puke on his dirty green carpet…

* * *

**Big Thanks To My Reviews!**

**Saint New:** _Your's are so better... no arguing!_

**aBbY oLiViA eR sVu:** _I wrote it from this POV because I honestly find it hard to write the SVU character. I don't do them justice..._

**Rox88:** _Thanks! I don't think that it's too good, but... writer's prerogative, right?_

**SpectralLady:** _Yeah, I know what you mean... I wouldn't mind slugging him either..._

**Emily Sim**: _Thanks so much!  
_


	15. Doubting Yellow

**Disclaimer: I own SVU. cough:yeah right:cough**

**Thanks to Saint New for agreeing to beta for me... and now on with the show...**

* * *

_SVU Squad Room  
February 17, 2006  
9:34 AM_

I pace the small room, retracing the same path I've been taking for the past half hour. I run my hands through my tangled black hair, the ponytail long since taken out. I could never stand having my hair 'done up'. I'm too fidgety, always running my hands through my long tresses. Everyone always thinks that I do it to draw attention to it. I've been growing it out since I was thirteen. But it's honestly just a habit; I do it to keep my hands busy.

I get to the end of the room, and turn, counting my steps back to the other side. Detective Benson follows me with her eyes, like she's been doing since I started my pacing/ranting. "I just don't understand why he'd have them. I've come up with so many excuses for why, but none of them feel right." I comment, mostly talking to myself now. I've already went over this a thousand times.

She nods, leaning back in the chair. "Where were they again?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She's already asked this question about as many times as I've said I don't understand. But it's part of figuring things out. Going over it over and over again, making sure you've got the facts right. That you aren't missing anything.

I sigh, stopping my pacing briefly to bang my head lightly against the wall. "They were in his travel cosmetic bag. It's the one he takes on business trips." I reply, just like I've done every other time she'd asked. I turn around, leaning back against the wall tiredly. I didn't sleep a wink last night. I was too busy obsessing over this.

She runs her hand through her own short locks, closing her eyes momentarily. "Okay, is it possible you left it there on accident? Maybe Karma got a hold of it." she suggests, looking at it from all points of view. I'd pounced on her the second she'd walked through the door at eight, and we've been doing this ever since.

I shake my head as I push myself away from the wall and start pacing again. "No, I'm positive it was in my purse. I hadn't even seen her for three days. And even it she had, it wouldn't explain both of them being there." I contend, getting frustrated with the lack of answers.

She nods again, leaning forward to rest her arms on the table. "Okay, would you please stoppacing? You're making me dizzy." she exclaims. I stop at the table, clumsily pulling the other chair out and sitting heavily on it. I cross my arms on the table, resting my pounding head on them, tempted to fall asleep.

I lift my head up just far enough to look at her. "Why would he have my ID? I know I had it the day before my attack. I had gotten carded when I had bought a bottle of wine." I whisper, the anger draining out of me, leaving me exhausted.

She closes her eyes again, obviously tired, too. I look closely at her, noting the bags under her eyes, and the wrinkled clothes that look like they were thrown on in a hurry. Now I feel bad. she was probably called in on a case early this morning, and then I come crying to her about something this stupid. "I'm sorry, Detective Benson. You're probably right; I must have lost it at his apartment. He was probably holding on to them, and just forgot to give them to me." I say quietly, starting to stand up.

She immediately opens her eyes, quickly catching my hand before I can stand up. "Sit down, Rosangela. You don't have to apologize. This might be something that can help with the investigation." she tells me, tugging my hand lightly to get me to sit back down. "And, please, call me Olivia. Detective Benson gets to be a little much after awhile." she tells me with a smirk.

I return her smirk with a small smile, still feeling bad. "Ok, Det... Olivia. It's just that my ID being there would be easily explained. But Chris's ID being there? It wasn't in his wallet after he was killed, and I couldn't find it anywhere in the apartment. So why in the world would Luke have it?" I continue, adding to my earlier rant.

She sets her elbows on the table, resting her chin against her folded hands. "I don't know, sweetie. But we're going to find out, okay? I told you before; I'm going to do everything I canto find who did this to you." she returned, giving me a sad smile.

I just nod, tilting my head up to stare at the florescent yellow light.


	16. Blue Twilight

**_AN: My Loves, Likes, and Dislikes. _I _love_ my readers, and their encouraging reviews. I _like_ constructive criticism. I welcome it with open arms. I _dislike_ flames. They only serve to discourage and anger me. And that makes my writing suffer, hence the long wait between chapters.**

**AN Part II: Sorry for the wait... I'm getting over a major case of writers block. Thanks for being patient. Hope you enjoy!**

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_Apartment of Rosangela Adessi  
February 23, 2006  
4:45 AM_

I sigh as Karma shifts on the bed again, settling back into the position she'd just moved out of. She gets her restlessness from me. I'll wake up in the morning to find my blankets and pillow on the floor, having been pushed off because I move around so much.

But she defiantly did not get her blanket hogging habit from me. I think Chris somehow rubbed off on her in that area. In the whole nature vs. nurture fight, I say nurture wins out. Because Karma is more like Chris than she is her own father… which I'm happy about.

Her father was a mistake that I don't regret making only because the best thing to ever happen to me came out of it. I was naïve back then, thought he was perfect because he had nice hair, pretty eyes, and a contagious smile. I wasn't the only one to fall head over heels for him either.

Every girl in school fell for him for two reasons. One, he was the bad boy in a world of 'daddies little girls', and somewhat upright young men. And two, because their arch enemy, or best friend liked him too, and it made him untouchable.

I liked him because Veronica Lands, aka Roni, liked him. Roni and I had been acquaintances pretty much from birth, because our parents ran in the same circles. They were all friends and got together often, and thought that their girls would become fast friends.

Roni was a spoiled jerk. She broke my favorite doll on purpose when we were five, so I in turn broke her nose… accidentally on purpose. We hated each other ever since. Everything we did was considered a competition.

So when he came into the picture, it was a race to see who would get him first. I won, obviously. If it wasn't for Karma, I would have wished Roni had won. If it wasn't for Karma, all the chasing and head butting I had done won't have been worth it.

The scars I carry around now wouldn't be worth it. Whenever I feel them weighing me down, all I have to do is think of my bright, vibrant, beautiful daughter and I feel lighter. I'm not a vain person, half the time I wish I had limp dirt brown hair instead of these blue-black tresses. Or plain brown eyes instead of jade green gemstones, as Chris liked to call them.

But Karma has some very good genes, I have a gorgeous daughter. I'll give her father credit for half of them, but that's about all he can stake his claim on. I now know how my parents felt as I was growing up. She's only five, but she's growing up so fast that I'm going to open my eyes tomorrow and she'll be going on her first date.

It's amazing how in tune she is with my emotions. Whenever I start thinking about her father, Chris, my attempted suicide, my attack, whatever it is, she knows. And she's there to give me a hug and tell me she loves me. I've got a fridge full of pictures she's drawn in order to cheer me up.

Like yesterday when I went to Luke's to see her, she could sense how tense I was around him. She clung to me like she had after I try to kill myself. She'd thrown a fit when I tried to leave, insisting on coming home with me. That's how I ended up here… cramped from sleeping on the edge of the bed with my five year old daughter laying on top of me and cold because she had kicked all the blankets off the bed.

But in the blue twilight of the dawning morning, there's nowhere I'd rather be…


	17. Running Golden

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. If I did _Fault_ would have had a much sweeter E/O flavored ending...**

**AN: Nope, ya'll are seeing things. There really isn't an update here... seriously. **

**Fine then, don't believe me and read on...**

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_Central Park, Manhattan, NY  
March 3, 2006  
3:33 PM_

I slow down next to the bench, shielding my eyes against the glare of the golden sun, trying to get my rapid breathing under control. I've never been one to do what others tell me, so I've completely ignored the doctor's orders to take things easy. Not being active was slowly killing me. I have to run; it's just a part of who I am.

Running is a stress reliever. And it helps clear my mind of all the thoughts that have been going through my mind lately. Specifically since I found the IDs at Luke's. I can't shake the feeling that there's more behind his story. More behind the reason why he had them. Let's face it; he had the perfect motive and opportunity for both Chris's murder and my attack.

He's always been jealous of my relationship with Chris. I know he's always had a huge crush on me. And I've made it clear to him time and time again that I see him as nothing more than a friend, or an annoying older brother. But he's a hard headed pig who can't seem to understand a word that comes out of my mouth.

He'd tried asking me out numerous times when we were younger. He thought just because we'd known each other pretty much all our lives that we would make a good couple. It's the high society curse. It's not as simple as boy meets girl, boy marries girl, and boy and girl live happily ever after in high society.

No, the parents decide who is good enough for their kid. And by good enough I'm talking about how much money their family has in the bank. And how well bred they are. Do they speak with perfect grammar, do they know which fork to use at the dinner table, and do they spend insane amounts of money for a simple get together with friends?

These are the things with which high society measures a person. It's not about how hard a person works, or how sweet, kind and honest they may be. They're shunned if they've used their hand for anything more strenuous then holding on to their daddy's coattails.

So when Chris stepped into the picture, with his calloused hands and slang words, no one would have looked at us and said, 'Oh, now they'd be a perfect couple." I was too independent, he was too poor. We weren't society's idea of a cute, prosperous couple.

Sure, it was perfectly acceptable to be acquaintances, hell, to even be best friends with him. But not to date him, to think or, heaven forbid, talk about a future with him. Luke was never accepting of the fact that Chris and I were dating. And he raised hell, in his society bred way, when we moved in together.

And he tried to talk me out of marrying Chris several times. He eventually gave up when I would keep brushing him off. But the last time he tried was two days before I found Chris bleeding on my living room floor. Two days before I lost the man I loved.

I didn't even think about it before. But now, in light of this new 'evidence', it's starting to seem like too big of a coincident. And that is just nerve-wracking. The more I think about it the bigger the knot in my stomach gets. Hence why I'm running against doctor's orders.

I'm doing the same thing I always do when things start getting hard… I run. I run fast, hard, and far away from the problem at hand. The farther I get from the source of that problem, the easier it is to pretend it doesn't exist all together.

It's what I did when I got into a fight with Chris years ago; that run had resulted in the thing that had nearly tore us apart, and then ultimately fixed us and made us stronger. I did the same thing when my parents kicked me out. I tried to do the same thing after Chris died. And now I'm running again…

Though in the harsh glare of the golden sun, I can't help but worry about what I'm leaving behind this time…

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**Okay, so I lied. There was an update. Amazing, huh? Now ya'll can push the little button down there and tell me how thrilled you were to see it... and then ya'll can check out another story of mine (just to tide you over till the next long awaited chapter of 'Colors'). It's calledUntil Then. Tell me what you think by e-mailing me, or sending a personal message or something. Here's the link; **http/ 


	18. The Pain Of Regret

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. If I did Dani woulda been the one in the f-ing prison ward of that hospital, and Olivia woulda been in New York wrapped up safe and sound in Elliot's loving arms...**

**AN: I know, amazing right?!? I'm here, and there's a new chapter, and it has nothing to do with color. I couldn't fit it in, for some reason. And besides, I think the color thing is getting a little tiresom, but still. This has a little more langue and some very slight sexual themes going on, which is kinda new for me. But I wanted to try something a little different, something slightly outside my writing comfort zone. So, enjoy, and lemme know what ya'll think! XOXO**

_Broken glass on the ground  
Reflecting light from all around  
These tiny pieces of my soul  
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's  
Bleeding life from inside of me  
The crimson glass pouring out of me  
Passion dying, losing splendor  
From purple to blue, losing it's hue  
My life in all it's stained glass glory  
Nothing more then my tragic story_

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**Flashback**

_Motel 6  
December 22, 2001  
5:48 AM_

I open my eyes slowly, fairly certain that this wasn't my room. Hell, I'm fairly certain, even with this pounding headache that this isn't even in the vicinity of my house. There's never this much traffic sounds in the "Stepford House" suburbs, as I like to call them. Everything's the same, everyone knows everything and everyone. It's always pretty quiet there. Beside, my mattress is like sleeping on a cloud, whereas this one is as hard as a rock.

I try sitting up, but the arm around my waist prevents me from getting too far. I turn my head quickly, my eyes widening as I see the person lying beside me. All I can do is hope that what I think might've happened didn't actually happen, but somehow I know that I'm not gonna be that lucky. I must have been majorly drunk last night… Tristan Kyler? What the hell was I thinking? God, Chris and Luke are gonna kill me. Or maybe they'll let me live, kill Tristan, and leave me alone to wallow in my shame.

Yeah, sure, the guy might've been my sorta boyfriend at one time, but still? There's a reason I broke up with him. I pry his hand off and wrap the sheet around me as he stirs on the bed. I stand next to the bed, trying to gather my chaotic thoughts, when I feel him wrap his arms around me from behind. "Where ya going, baby?" he whispers, his voice scratchy. I can't stop the shudder that runs through my body.

"Tristan… where the hell are my pants?" I manage to inquire around the lump in my throat. See, this is why I'm never drinking again! Especially not when I'm pissed off, because I lose my mind and do something incredibly stupid… like sleeping with my ex-boyfriend. I pull away from Tristan to pick my underwear up off the floor, trying not to turn red. I'd imagined my first time many times, but I never once thought it'd be like this.

I turn just in time to see him stand up… sans clothing. And I thought this couldn't get any more uncomfortable. "Damn it, Tris, put some clothes on, would you?" I snap as I spin around again, barely avoiding toppling over as my feet get tangled in the sheet. I hear him trying to stifle his laughter behind me, and feel myself flush even more. I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly embarrassed in my entire life. I spot my sorry excuse for a shirt lying next to the door, half hidden underneath his jeans, and after grabbing it, hurry to the bathroom.

One look in the mirror tells me that I defiantly am not cut out for the party kinda lifestyle. My hair is in tangles around my flushed face, the bags under my eyes look even darker then usual. Mascara and eyeliner ring my bloodshot eyes, making my normally tan face look extremely pale. I wince as I see the very telltale hicky on the side of my neck. All in all, I look absolutely terrible. And worse, the memories of how I came to look like this are coming back full force. I not only look like a slut, but I feel like one.

I also remember why I'd gotten all dolled up and went to that party. I was pissed, and wanted to piss him off too. Chris had no right, no right whatsoever, to change the rules like that. He can't get mad at me because I was shocked, and a little worried about ruining our friendship. He and Luke are the only things that keep me sane. He can't just spring these feelings of his on me and expect me to be happy about it. My movements become jerky as the anger raises to the top, momentarily blotting out the shame.

I force myself to stay angry as I push the door open and walk back into the room in my shirt and underwear. I ignore Tristan's stare as I search under the bed for my missing pants. I come up triumphant, and quickly tug the jeans on. "'Angela? You okay there, babe?" he asks, running his hand down my arms. I wrench away, and snatch my shoes and purse before heading for the door. "Rosangela! Come on!" he yells as I run down the stairs.

I fish my cell out of my bag and find that I have eleven missed calls. I only remember the first two… I'd put the phone on silent after that. My parents have probably had a heart attack. Their perfect little daughter never made it home. Hence the four missed calls from them. And the six missed calls from Chris. And the one missed call from Luke. Luke… the only one I can bear facing right now. I hold down the four button, speed dialing Luke. I stand outside the motel, shivering in the early morning air, waiting for him to pick up.

"This better be good since you're calling me before eight o'clock on a Saturday morning." He grumbled into the phone. Luke has never been a morning person. Chris and I have learned not to call before eight on Saturday's the hard way. But I'm desperate. Desperate enough to risk the morning wrath of Lucas Traiylor so I can get the hell out of here. This day couldn't get any worse as it is.

I sigh, "Sorry about waking you, Luke. Think you can come pick me up now?" I'm sure I sound about as bad as I feel. I've been awake for not even twenty minutes but it feels like twenty four hours. I don't think I've ever been this tired before. "I mean, I'd take a cab, but I don't have enough money."

"Rosangela?! Where the hell have you been?" I don't think I've ever heard him this awake this early. "I was up till after twelve, fielding calls from both your mother and Chris. Everyone has been worried sick!" he yelps as I hear a crash on the other line.

I crack a smile as I hear him cursing under his breath. "You alright there, Luke, or do I need to call someone else to be my driver?" I ask, trying to sound playful, and failing miserably, as my head starts pounding again. I stand by my earlier vow. I am never drinking again. Ever.

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_Apartment of Christopher Tolbert  
March 09, 2002  
11: 51 PM_

I pace outside the door, trying to work up the courage to knock. After the whole Tristan incident he tore into me, and our friendship took a nose dive. We've barely talked for three months. I see him watching me sometimes, but he refuses to talk to me. Not that I've actually tried to talk to him at all. I'm too ashamed to face him, to see the disappointment in his eyes. I don't want him to think I'm like that all the time. Or at all, really. Since when did I start caring what Chris thinks of me? This needs to end.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I rap quickly on the door. This needs to be done before everything completely self-destructs. I don't want to lose the best thing that's ever happened to me, although I fear I may not have a choice in the matter. I hear the lock rattling, and I shuffle my feet, trying to quell the urge to bolt as the door opens, and he stands there looking at me. "'Angel?" he whispers gently.

I can't stop the tears as I feel him put his arms around me. It feels right, being in his arms like this. Let's hope I get a chance to be under different circumstances. I pull away slightly, looking up at him with tears streaming down my face. I don't want to have to tell him this. But I can't… I won't back out now.

"Chris… I think I'm pregnant."

**End Flashback**


End file.
